Revolution: The Life and Story of Fred & George
by PoeticFrenzy
Summary: This is the remarkably hilarious story of the Weasley twins, as told by their family, friends, classmates and teachers... somewhat of a comical biography. Enjoy, and please review!
1. Prologue: The Beginning

**Author's Note: This is the story of Fred and George, told from several different perspectives (I promise to get Fleur's in somewhere!). It's a story of who they were and what they were like, but also what they aspired to be, their limitations and weaknesses, and how they developed as human beings. _Please read and review!!_ This is a very rough first chapter -- it's not from any particular perspective -- so please keep reading as I update, if you're interested. And enjoy:)**

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From the moment of their birth, they were laughing. Both were scrawny, with slightly unkempt, wild red hair; both had wild freckles across their noses. Both were exuberant and obstreperous in nature from birth, but intelligent, their mother could tell. But both were laughing.

"That one's Fred," exclaimed a small, stout boy who appeared to be about six years old. "He's the one with the ear."

"What ear, silly?" giggled the woman. "Both have perfectly fine ears, Charlie."

Charlie chortled. "Yes, but he's got a special ear. Is that one Fred or George?"

An older boy, presumably Charlie's brother, sat in a flimsy metal chair in the side of the room, chuckling to himself. "Mum, could I have a look?"

The woman's head snapped to face her other son, who had apparently gone unnoticed. "Ah, dear, of course!"

A man hurried into the room, also with scraggly red hair and freckles. "Mollywobbles… which is which?"

The woman rested her forehead in her plump, calloused hands. "They're your _children_, Arthur, dear, _honestly…_" Still, she was stifling a smile.

"Well, they are certainly handsome, Molly… yes, indeed…" Bill caught a glimmer of a tear in his father's eye and leapt out of his seat to hug his dad.

Looking up into his father's eyes, he smiled. "Daddy, will I get to hold them?"

Charlie cheered, "Yes, yes, mum, yes, will we get to hold them? Please? I can hold the one with the ear, and Bill can hold the other one. Or maybe I can hold both at one time. Would that be alright, mum? If I held both at one time? Please?"

Mrs. Weasley let out a long sigh, exasperated but obviously still overjoyed at the birth, still smiling. "Yes, you will, but you'll need your father's help, both of you."

Though the elder grinned, apparently satisfied, the younger boy appeared disheartened at the instructions. "But mum, mum, I can do it myself, I promise I can. I mean, I'm almost ready to go to school in five years. Five years isn't long, right? Well, anyway, I can handle - "

"No, Charlie, dear, you can't, and neither can Bill. Fred and George are very young and they need special attention."

Just then, one of the infants broke in, howling at the top of his lungs, and the other giggled for a moment before beginning to wail, too. Molly, distressed, held both closer, rocking them to sleep but to no prevail. Only when the two locked eyes did they cease crying, and both suddenly burst into the most jovial laughter Mrs. Weasley had ever heard.

"They're laughing, Bill, they're laughing!" The young boy grinned at his older brother, jubilant. Bill beamed back at him. Both were delighted to have two new members of the family, and as they sat there watching the two newborns rolling in fits of laughter on their mother's laugh, familiarizing themselves with these two tiny voices, they couldn't be more content.

This is the story of Fred and George Weasley, two boys who could conjure up a world for themselves and launch a revolution.


	2. Bill: Incessant Laughter

**Age One**

**Bill**

I stood there watching the two appreciatively, gazing down at both their tiny red heads and wondering, _Will they be my friends when I get older? Will they be nice to me? Will I miss them when I go to Hogwarts in two years?_ And then there was the invariable question, always pressing in on my mind, _Why are they always together?_ But then again, I let these thoughts come to pass… after all, I'd get to see them grow, and I wasn't as impatient and curious as Charlie, who constantly fingered their soft, delicate hands.

Fred and George wore small orange and yellow sweaters bearing the letters "F" and "G", respectively. Constantly they would finger the letters, point to them, and tease them, and when Mum came into the room to find the two drooling on their sweaters, I tried hard to stifle incessant laughter. How could I not love these two? Both seemed so carefree, but they were awfully inquisitive at the same time. I liked to laugh as they picked things up and adjusted them to their own fancy.

Then again, Mum wasn't a bit as pleased with their curious behaviors as I was. Relentlessly the two knocked things over, dissected their parts, babbled to one another in some odd language that Mum would call gibberish and I called genius, and laughed like there was no tomorrow. I'll admit, I got tired of it when they pulled on my pants or hid my small wizarding figurines in the sink (only to be found _after _the dishes had been washed), but I didn't feel nearly as exhausted of it as my mother did.

"Oh, Bill, dear, would you take Fred out into the garden while I give George a bath? Maybe you can find some gnomes in there or something to keep him busy…"

I wouldn't object to such a request, but then ten minutes later I would hear Mum crying out from the top window, "Oh, dear, George ate half the soap and now he's regurgitating something… would you mind helping out? And bring Fred, too, please, dear." I would run into the house, tripping over stairs three at a time with Fred in my arm and often dropping the poor guy. Finally when I reached the top, Mum would be having a panic attack, yelling down for Charlie to help instead.

One night I had taken _Charm Your Own Cheese_, a cookbook Mum always keeps handy on the kitchen counter, and attempted, for practice, to help Charlie read it. Fred crawled into the room, shortly followed by his twin, and both proceeded to chew the side of the book to shreds until Dad came sprinting down the stairs with his wand to repair it. Both twins exchanged glances and began to snicker as I leapt out of Aunt Muriel's rocking chair and into the kitchen. Later that night, I found the two boys lying in their nursery together laughing warmly as they flipped through page after page of the same volume they'd tried to tear up an hour earlier.

I was astounded when I walked past their room on my way to bed one balmy August evening and heard, "Gilderoy _who?_" As I listened by the door, I heard more conversation, not just gibberish, but words that, though not necessarily strung together, actually made sense.

"Gilderoy… him." That was Fred, I could tell. For the past year, I'd familiarized myself with their voices, and now I could tell that Fred's was only slightly lower. I giggled. _Gilderoy Lockhart_, I thought, _The most handsome smiler and brilliant author_. Mum had mentioned the name countless times, and it amused me to think that the boys' first words would be this name.

"Him. Gilderoy." That was George.

"Noooo…" A ridiculously hilarious syllable, the _O_'s in the word almost sounded like _A_'s. Fred sounded as though he were erupting in fits of giggles. I beamed, a wide smile crossing my face now. My brothers were holding a discussion – not a comprehensive one, but it was made up of words all the same.

"Y – noooo…" the other replied.

"Gilderoy _who_?" Like parrots, they were imitating Mum and Dad's words! Though obviously much less complicated, their conversation was delightful for me to hear nevertheless, and pretty progressive for one-year-old children.

Soon, they grew tired and the conversation stopped in another "Gilderoy no…" before the twins drifted off to sleep. I tiptoed up to my room, covering my mouth to keep from waking anyone up with my persistent laughter. As I opened the cracked wooden door to my room and peered in, I noticed Charlie asleep on my bed. Just then, a pang of envy bolted through me… why did I have to have all the responsibility while my brothers got to lay back and relax like I'd always wanted to do?

But I didn't think on it much after that; after all, I wouldn't get to see all three grow up from this perspective if I weren't the eldest child. And I could tell them all about Hogwarts in two years, and I could teach them to ride a broomstick and use a wand, once I'd learned myself. Fred and George seemed so intelligent; maybe they'd become something great someday, and I'd get to brag about how skillful and talented they were from birth. I giggled softly at the thought.

I closed the door and crept into bed with Charlie, smiling and wondering what the future would hold for all of us…


	3. Charlie: Peculiar Family

**A/N: _Finally_, I'm continuing this story! The chapter, again, isn't too long, but I hope you'll enjoy it. I apologize to everyone who's been waiting for me to update... I know, it's been a month & four days!**

**Thanks to everyone who supported me and urged me to keep writing (especially you, Hallieeee!). And thanks a million to all the reviewers and anyone who's put my story on their alerts. I appreciate it!**

**So, umm, I realize this is terribly short, but I put a lot of effort into it and I hope you like it. Please _review_!**

**..Amelia..**

**P.S. I also realize it's a bit... sluggish. ;) ****However, I will continue it because once the two get older (i.e. first year at Hogwarts), there are new friendships... and romances... that will spring up. Keep checking for updates... I am back.

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"George! Err, Fred, yes…" mum mused, noting the "F" on his sweater in her peripheral vision. "Uggh, that's atrocious," she murmured, "but I suppose it's only to be expected. Charlie, dear, could you mop that up really quickly?"

_Not again_, I thought, but still I couldn't help thinking these boys were still rather rebellious for the age of two, which brought a slight smile to my face. I suppressed it as mum's eyes drilled into my own. "Yes, mum, but why can't you just use - "

"It's good for you, dear, to have a muggle chore or two once in a while. Your father would approve," she snapped, levitating a kettle onto the stove with a flick of her wand.

_How ironic_. I half-smirked before resuming an expression of utmost disgust as I turned toward the filthy, ragged mop, whose handle had snapped cleanly in two years ago. George giggled, as if to mock me, and I smiled back at him. "Do you have any idea how much pain I have to go through with you two for brothers?"

Fred cocked his head.

"That's what I thought." Still, it wasn't nearly as bad for me as it had been when Percy was their age. I was six years old at the time, and still mum insisted Bill and I clean up after his messes. But of course Bill was in charge of taking care of the finicky boy… I'm sure that was not too pleasant a task.

As I finished the disturbing duty and returned the mop to its closet, I heard, "Fudge, how he dare!" I pivoted to see two sets of tiny freckled faces on mum. The post had come in – Errol was perched contentedly on the window and mum was staring at the paper. Apparently the minister of magic had done something terrible once more, something my eight-year-old mind couldn't comprehend.

But apparently the twins could.

"Mark my words! Mark my words! Mark my words!" they squealed in unison. I burst out laughing.

"Mum, they're imitating you! Listen!"

She grinned softly. "Perhaps if they knew what I was saying they wouldn't be so quick to act."

I contemplated that. "Do _I _know what you're saying?"

She just smiled. "Possibly, dear – could you hand me that rag?"

I didn't get it – why in the world did she have me doing everything by hand when she could easily do it through magic? Still, I was always willing to help. I grabbed it and tossed it over.

"You know, Charlie, I think your brother is - "

The door opened and dad stepped in, a broad grin plastered across his not-yet-wrinkled face. "Daddy!" I leapt jovially into his arms.

"Hello, Charlie! How was your day?" He beamed down at me and I chuckled.

"Great, Daddy. I finally found that one gnome you were complaining about; it was under the garden wall, hiding. Isn't that great?" I gazed up at him, anticipating a gratifying response.

"Charlie, dear, just where did you _put _said gnome?" Mum probed suspiciously, though I could feel an undertone of amusement in her voice. My father shot me a mischievous glance and I winked back. Mum's eyes issued a silent warning, Her glance brutal as usual.

Dad's quick response: "I taught him to use the Gnome-B-Gone spray last night. That creature is now as obsolete as… manual toothbrushes."

Mum let out a slight squeal, eying her husband playfully, but then recomposed herself. "Alright then, whatever suits your fancy."

If only she knew that the gnome was concealed in a cage in my room. I wanted to learn more about it, care for it. My father had told me I could keep a creature of my own (mum, on the contrary, had not). What would he say now?

"Bill, Percy, supper!" Mum called wearily, her voice hoarse. Murmuring something about a long day, she levitated a pot of yellowish chowder onto the table along with three loaves of bread and a dish of broccoli. My siblings came racing down the stairs. I grinned smugly at the both of them, and Percy glowered at me.

"What's this stuff?" Fred demanded just as George announced, "I smell yellow." My mother rolled her eyes with disdain. The twins were young, but that wouldn't stop her from giving them _the look_. We all knew that. I snorted.

"They do have pretty good vocabularies for two-year-olds, mum. I mean, it's witty, isn't it? I couldn't talk like that when I was two, could I?" My older brother mused.

Milk flew out my nose. Mum appeared revolted. "S – sorry," I murmured.

"_Char_lie!" Fred reprimanded teasingly.

These were my brothers?

I didn't know why, or how, it happened. But I _did_ know, somehow, that I had the most brilliant, amusing family in the world. And somehow, that little fact let everything else fall into place.


End file.
